


People Will Talk

by 1bluedancer1



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1bluedancer1/pseuds/1bluedancer1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Will Talk

The scream echoed through the flat. Mrs. Hudson got up, grabbed a washcloth, wet it and went to put it on John. “Poor dear.” she whispered to herself. As she left she ran her fingers across the yellow smile and the bullet holes. “Why put him through the pain?” she asked? “It was necessary,” the dark figure told her, then handed her a jar of jam that had a label that read “For John.”  
I awoke with a start, there was a rag on my face that I quickly ripped off, another nightmare, I thought to myself. I got dressed and left my room, heading to the kitchen. I opened the door and grabbed the bread and noticed we had no milk. I then moved to the cupboard and reached for the jam. I then put the bread in the toaster and set the jam on the table while I made tea.  
I sat and opened the jam and stopped dead when I read the label.  
“Mrs. Hudson!” I called “Where did you get this jam?”  
Mrs. Hudson entered the room and busied herself making her own tea, rambling on about some friend of a cousin who had heard about Sherlock. I heaved a sigh and said some form of a thank you and continued t eat, then getting up to leave she asked where I was going,  
“Shopping.” I told her as I grabbed my coat.  
I paced down the aisles looking at all the food, occasionally stopping to read a label and put something in the cart. After I had looked at some random things I made my way to the back of the store to where they kept the milk. I walked no more than two steps before I saw the hat. He had once called it a death frisbee.  
“Sherlock?!” I called out to him. The man turned around and looked at me with his brown eyes wondering who I was talking to. Not him. I left my cart and everything in it and just left.   
I was going back to the flat when I got a text from Mycroft.  
“Have news on Sherly that you might want to hear ~M” it read. I stuck my hand out to hail a cab when a black limousine pulled up beside me and I opened the door.

He was standing behind a chair with his back to me when I entered the room. I coughed gently to tell him I was in the room.  
“I knew you were there, no need to cough.” he told me as he turned to face me.  
“Fine,” I told him, “What did you call me here to tell me this time?” He motioned for me to sit across from him but I continued to stand.  
“You, of course, remember when my...” he caught himself “Sherlock, jumped off the roof of that hospital. None of us could ever forget, but what I didn’t know until a couple months ago was that the phone Sherlock called you on, since it was not his, was tapped. I have spent the last few months tracking and interrogating all the people who tapped that phone, and I have some information that you, of all people, need to know.” As he said this he handed me a folder, inside were pictures of all the assassins that used to be my neighbors.   
“What do they have to do with Sherlock’s... death?” I asked, stumbling on death.  
“Each and everyone of these men were tapping the phone and were waiting near each of you at the time of the call. Moriarty had each one of them under the instructions to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, if Sherlock did not jump.” Said Mycroft, looking at me coldly. “I am not the sole reason for my brother’s death and therefore would like to ask for at least some acknowledgement of that fact, please.” his face softened as he said this last bit.  
“Mycroft, you were right in assuming that I blamed you, I did and still partially do, I cannot forgive you though for something that you did not do. You apologizing will not bring Sherlock back and until that time I will continue to hold you partially responsible for his death, now if you don’t mind I must be getting back to the flat.” I turned to leave when Mycroft called out to me.  
“John?” his voice making me pause momentarily, yet I kept my back turned, “Who do you think has been paying Sherlock’s part of the rent?” After hearing his question I continued to walk away and did not look back.  
I sat in my regular booth, at my regular time waiting for Molly. She and I had grown closer over the death of our friend and had taken to having tea twice a week. She was always “fashionably late”  
Molly smiled as she opened the door of the little shop and plopped down on the side across from me.  
“Here.” I said, sliding the file Mycroft had given me across the table.  
“What’s this?” she asked as she began to read the file. I carefully explained everything Mycroft had told me and when she began to cry, got up and moved to sit next to her, her head leaning on my shoulder.  
When Molly was done she set her hand on mine and we continued to sit in silence. After a while I told her about the jam, and what had happened at the grocery store. She looked at me sympathetically and rubbed my hand in hers as I stumbled while telling my tale.

“Everything’s going to be okay John.” She told me as we sat in silence.  
“How do you know?” I asked.  
“Because I know Sherlock.” she replied.

The headstone was wet with morning mist as I approached it. My tea with Molly yesterday had made me wonder if life could ever get better without Sherlock, and I had come to my own conclusion.  
I pulled a note out of my pocket and set it under his name. Then I pulled the gun from my pocket and braced myself to pull the trigger. The cold weight of the gun in my hand was lifted suddenly as it was pulled out of my hand, at the same time I was tackled to the ground.  
Sherlock stood up and took the gun from John while he just stared at the lean figure looming above him.  
“People are definitely gonna talk now.” Sherlock said as he reached out his hand to pull me up. I hesitated but, in the end, took it. “John I know I’ve been gone a while, and I’m sorry but...” he never finished because I slammed my head into him and just hugged him.  
“I never doubted you.” I whispered into his coat.  
“I know.” he replied, opening the chamber of the empty gun, revealing that there were never any bullets.


End file.
